


✨one shots✨

by SkitteryConlon



Category: Newsies
Genre: Intense, M/M, OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkitteryConlon/pseuds/SkitteryConlon
Summary: a collection of one shots that my friend and i wrote!
Relationships: jackcrutchie, mlm - Relationship





	✨one shots✨

The last of the street vendors were packing up in double time, heading home as fast as they could, muttering about “ruffians” and “street rats”. Their absence, however, barely makes a dent in the crowd gathering on Brooklyn Bridge. Small groups of rowdy newsboys milled about the iconic landmark, roughhousing and having snarky, banter filled conversations. As the last vendor left the bridge, at nearly 7pm, a collective hush fell across the crowd, before they erupted into cheers. From one end of the bridge, a group of muscular boys in somehow matching striped red shirts arrived in lockstep. From the other, seeming to spill onto the overpass, a mismatched band of scrawny hooligans ran into view, jostling and throwing elbows in attempts to reach the front of the pack. Finally, the two packs met, and their respective leaders exchange a spit-shake. The shorter one roared to the crowd “Newsies of New York! Give it up for Jack Kelly, leader of the Newsboy’s union for a whole year!” The cheers grew double. Then, as if it were a competition, Jack Kelly replied with an even greater roar “Give it up for Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn Newsies and our host tonight!” A few minutes went by as the scrapy teenagers hooted and applauded their leaders and each other. Finally, a semblance of order settled as a few newsies from different boroughs began pulling out various foods and bottles of alcohol.   
Chip was standing in line to get booze from Race when he felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned, he was met by twinkling green eyes, veiled by messy brown hair. He was definitely frightened, but his heart settled as soon as Stitches spoke. “Jesus, a bit jumpy tonight?” He said wrapping his arms around Chip’s torso, which he quickly swatted away. “Don’t do that, someone could see," Chip said, consciously looking around and keeping his distance from Stitches. “Oh no, god forbid drunk fifteen year olds see me hugging my boyfriend!” Stitches said, a little louder than usual. A few newsies turned their heads to inspect the scene, but quickly dismissed it, assuming the two boys were drunk. “Stitch, stop it, someone could see us! The last thing I want tonight is for someone to hurt you,” Chip replied, under his breath. “Fine.” Stitches retreated to the Manhattan newsies, interested in what they were up to. Chip continued in line itching to get alcohol inside of him. Maybe he can openly love his boyfriend if he’s not in his right mind. He’s had some other Manhattan boys give him weird looks... One time, a group of Brooklyn crooks beat him up, having seen him holding hands with Stitches. He has had some difficulty with even holding Stitches hands in private, out of fear that they might be being watched.   
A young man with a limp approached Chip rather timidly. “Hey, I just noticed that you were a bit rude to your boyfriend there, and by the looks of it, he seems rather upset,” the boy spoke. Chip glanced over at Stitches, obviously about to cry, and he couldn’t help but feel awful. Chip did a double take. “B-boyfriend? Stitches is just my friend! I don’t like guys in that way, that’s disgusting. It’s not how God intended it,” he faltered. He didn’t really believe in God, but he couldn’t risk being found out by some random kid. For some reason, the limpy guy seemed bothered by his reaction. Had he guessed? Chip scrambled to get rid of the guy and said hastily, “look, kid, not that I don’t want to talk to you, but I’m about to get to the end of the line and I really need to get some alcohol in me.” Apparently, this wasn’t enough to get rid of the other boy. He crossed his arms and argued, “that's not a good reason to be rude to me and your boyf—” “Shut up,” Chip commanded, trying to keep his voice low. The goddamn kid wouldn’t leave. He seemed almost questioning when he retorted, “you’re embarrassed to have a boy—” “I said shut up,” Chip hissed. He was now holding the kid by the collar of his shirt, and he could tell he was sensitive, he could see the fear in his rapidly flooding eyes. He let go, took a breath, and tried to push his anger away. “I’m sorry, kid,” he said. The young man fell back on his crutch and limped away to tell some other newsies what happened. Chip’s eyes widened as he searched for a way out of this. A shout nearly made him jump out of his skin. “Hey!” Jack Kelly was yelling at him, and Chip froze solid. The union leader approached at almost a run, with a fire in his eyes. A small posse of other Manhattan newsies followed him, amongst them the limping boy. “Hey! You! Yeah you, did you hurt Crutchie?” he boomed. “I d— don’t know who Crutchie is,” Chip replied, backing up slowly. The fire in Kelly’s eyes grew, along with the crowd surrounding them. “Oh, I think you do! That poor boy you just hurt? That’s Crutchie. He’s got a heart of gold, he’s done more in a week than you have in your whole, stupid life. If you ever touch any Manhattan newsies ever again, consider yourself dead,” Jack yelled, a hair away from Chip’s face. “I— uh, I am— a Manhattan newsie, sir? Jack?” Chip stammered, refusing to look in his eyes. “You do not have the right to call me by my name.” Jack said, walking away. Chip let himself exhale, trying to regulate his breath. “Jesus christ...” he mumbled to himself. Jack turned around, and before Chip could say ‘mercy’ he was back in his face, pulling him up by the collar. “What did you say to me?” Kelly shouted. “I said ‘jesus christ’. You care about that crip way too much, it’s kind of gay...” Chip replied bravely, slowing his heart rate. Without hesitation, Jack winded up, and hit Chip right in the face, knocking him to the ground. He knelt down and leaned over the now trembling boy.  
“I know who you are, Chip. You’re lucky your ‘pal’ over there’s stayed with you. Don’t forget that,” he whispered. Then, a hand gently tugged at Jack’s shoulder. It was that Davey guy, who’d gotten the strike started and all. He pulled back the seething newsboy without resistance and told him softly “Jack, it’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” As the pair walked away, joined by Crutchie, Chip thought he heard Jack mutter “I was fine, babe. Just makin’ an example,” but he probably misunderstood. Anyways, he had more pressing problems. After that encounter, he was definitely not getting that drink from Racetrack Higgins. Plus, Spot Conlon had taken his place in line and was leaning over Race’s makeshift counter. Chip got up and made for the other end of the bridge, where a few of the Brooklyn Boys jostled with Bronx newsies next to their own alcohol stand. Halfway there, Chip felt an arm drape itself around his shoulder. Flinching, he turned to see Stitches looking at him with a worried expression. “Chip? Oh my god, are you okay? I just saw what happened, I’m so sorry. Let’s go back to my lodging house, I have some medical—” Stitches stopped, and the world seemed to go into slow motion. Chip was shouting, tears streaming down his face, and he could see the hurt and pain in his eyes. Stitches could tell that Chip was sick of pretending, of playing the straight man. “What happened to the man I loved?” Stitches yelled, calling the attention of the other boys close by. “When did he turn into this, this scared, cowardly boy!” Stitches continued, oblivious to the newsies who started surrounding them. Chip’s breath sped up and his eyes began to well. “Please, Stitches, I don’t want to do this right n—” “Do what? Admit that you love me?” The glares of the Brooklyn and Bronx newsies burned into his skin. Chip stammered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” and that did it for Stitches. He stared down his boyfriend, unflinching, and said, “remember just the other day, when you got in a fight with some dumb kid because you stole food for me— wait, no. Us. And who washed and cleaned your cuts so they wouldn’t get infected? Me. I’m sick of you playing the ‘straight man’. When will you stop being this stranger, this coward I don’t know, and love me out here the same way you do when no one’s around?” The crowd around them had drawn the attention of the newsies spread across the rest of the bridge, and just as Stitch’s final words rang out, Jack Kelly made it to the front of the pack, Davey and Crutchie not far behind. As Chip stood before all of New York’s newsies, his mouth formed words, and not a sound made it past his lips.   
The tense silence was broken by what most would describe as a miracle — a miracle in the shape of a wagon, pulled by a suffering horse that singlehandedly bore the load of the cart’s passengers, and a piano. What little space wasn’t occupied by the rattling instrument was filled by four women. As soon as the wagon was on the bridge, Medda Larkins began waving her hand as if she were the queen of England saluting her people. Next to her, keeping a close eye on the piano, Ava Booth looked out at the crowd with equal parts delight and concern. The last two girls only really had eyes for each other, but gave Jack and the other Manhattan boys a small wave. As the horse finally settled into a deserved break in the middle of the bridge, Medda took control and enlisted the Brooklyn Boys to bring down the piano. Spot and Elmer lifted the thing, Race made idle and distracted conversation with Ava, Jack and Davey rushed over to help Sarah and Katherine out of the mess, and Chip attempted to slide away. Stitches had disappeared, and since the group had the collective attention span of a 10-year-old who’d drank 11 bottles of Coca-Cola, the incident was pretty much forgotten, so now was a good time as ever for an escape. Instead, Chip found himself caught in the push towards the now installed piano. By the time he got there, someone was already sitting on the bench, warming up with scales. Chip recognised another Manhattan newsie — Keys? Right, Keys MacAlister. They started playing a new Scott Joplin song, Maple Tree Rag or whatever it was. Soon, Ava Booth and Miss Medda were singing, and so was everyone else. It was really a party, and Chip wanted to be anywhere but there. He needed to apologize to Stitches, he knew how sensitive he was, and he went and pretended he wasn’t his boyfriend anyway. Where would he be? He spent the next while wandering down brooklyn streets, and suddenly it clicked. Jacobi’s! He started running to the rundown deli where the Manhattan newsies often loitered. It took him about 15 minutes of sprinting to reach the building, and about 20 more because Jacobi’s was closed on Fridays. He was finally in the building, and the only person he saw was his favourite brunette, sobbing at a table all alone. “Hey..” Chip let out, slowly and quietly. “Please leave,” Stitches said with all the power left in him, which wasn’t a bunch. “Please let me make it up to you. A dinner? Sitting by the sunset? I will do anything to win you back” Chip said, approaching the sad, albeit tired, boy he loved. “I’m not sure. You’re the love of my life, and you’ve been pretending I don’t exist.” Stitches said, too tired to have this conversation. Chip took the chair next to him, took Stitches’ hands and gave him a soft look. “Ethan, I love you more than anything in the world, I’m just scared. I’ll hold your hand and kiss you in public like I do in private. I love you so much. If I have to take a beating just to love you, I’ll do it. But please, if anyone threatens to hurt or hurts you, you’ll tell me?” Stitches held Chip’s face and wiped away the tears. “Of course.”


End file.
